Blood Hunt
by L. Catherine Dion
Summary: Kathmandu, Nepal. A man with a crossbow, vengeance in his heart, two hits in his hand. Two detectives trying to find peace in a land where anything is possible-including death and rebirth. Does Zen have a price? Crews/Reese
1. Hide the Devils

A thin, tall, blond man with dark and hungry eyes waited quietly, patiently, like all men who have waited for change wait. He folded his gloved hands and closed his eyes as he waited on the bench he had been sitting on for the last three hours. Patience would give him what he needed, patience would give him everything he wanted too. It required discipline and effort to remain where he was and so he remained, tireless. The hunt had begun in Crescent City, the hunt had begun when he was born.

Nepal was a landscape of people that wove in and out of each other, obscuring his targets, making it that much more challenging to find them.

It had taken him three days to extract the information from the pilot. Three long days. His skills were honed, polished to a point, but he wanted that _bitch_ to feel the hooks and barbs, the pain of it worrying deep inside of her. This he wanted. His dark eyes opened, traced the faces of the crowd, followed the shining shaved head of a Buddhist monk, caught the bright flash of orange robes and the glint of round glasses that reflected the late afternoon sun. There was an undercurrent of calm in this place, calm that was threaded with potential violence.

Anything could happen in a place like this.

He caught motion, a different cadence, the swing of a woman's hips, the curve of her back, the waistline of her perfectly filled jeans. Sun lightened hair caught the wind and swirled like a banner, exposing the column of her neck as her browned arm rose. She was holding up fruit, her head canted to the side, her lips flashing and curling into a relaxed smile. The lines of her body were easy and he realized she felt no threat in this place.

Soon.

He would have to move soon.


	2. Ollie, Ollie Oxen Free

There was no such thing as silence in Kathmadu, Nepal, where they'd landed two days prior. People were everywhere, walking, biking, moving, wrinkled faces of old men peered at her, gap-toothed but smiling, offering trinkets as they moved through Asan in Kathmandu, the oldest bazaar in the city. The scent of food being prepared lingered, pungent bursts of spice mixing with that of the heady perfume of garlands and the nutty scent of cigar smoke. The sound of bicycle bells and the rustling murmur of hagglers broke in snatches. Blue and white signs, some in bright reds and golds, seemed to float above little shops that were cubbyholed tight against each other, some only big enough for the proprietor who occasionally sang out, hawking wares. Jewelry, tea, fish, vegetables, fruit-- anything one could ever imagine--shone in baskets and stalls, or hung from their owners. Reese stopped to admire mandala rugs and watched as five elderly men put down colored sand with such careful and steady attention, she was momentarily transfixed.

A voice called out, high and thin above the clamor, then faded out as if it had never been there.

Her fingers tangled with Charlie's as they paused by a fruit stand and his face lit up, all bright with the promise of locally grown produce. Reese half laughed as he probably paid more than he should have for a bag of mixed fruit. She ducked and slid to examine fat, ripe peaches and plums, momentarily losing contact with Crews as she was lightly jostled. It was probably a good thing she had nothing of value on her, save the passport she had tucked into an inside, zippered pocket, because when she glanced down the large, slightly frustrated eyes of a little boy were searching her face like he'd expected to find _something_. He darted away an instant later as Crews wove himself around a few bodies, his fingers at the small of her back as he leaned to examine her find.

Subtle contact, the brush of an arm, the pause of her fingertips against his knuckles, an exchange of currency, and they were moving again, guided by nothing save Crews's enthusiasm as he pointed at a stall selling what looked like some sort of herb encrusted chicken. Reese glanced up at the sky, which was threatening rain, then leaned into Crews for a moment. His cheek brushed hers and his lips curved in a calm, serene smile, completely, wholly _here_.

Wordlessly, she gestured, since talking seemed to be a waste of breath, and he nodded. They threaded their way out of the bazaar itself and grabbed a taxi back to The Hyatt Regency that was ten minutes walking distance from the Boudhanath Stupa, _the_ holiest site outside of Tibet proper. For Charlie Crews, that had about _made_ the trip. Reese found herself unable to _care_ what they did as long as they were in reach of each other. The hotel itself was breathtaking from the massive pool outside, to the incredibly lush interriors. They hadn't seen the room for more than a few moments at a time for the last two days and, as they moved into the Presidential Suite, the room's beauty struck her full force.

Leave it to Mickey Rayborn to book them at a hotel that made her feel like she was five years old and being yelled at for touching some old biddy's china collection (which had only happened once and she _hadn't_ broken it, her cousin had). She felt like she needed to tiptoe through the room, but Crews moved through it with a casual elegance that made her pause to watch him. Charlie moved with the grace of a man who'd already arrived at his intended destination long before he even started that first stride forward. He was all leg and lean lines, powerful his his own way, and as he bent slightly, she found herself lost in the way the light washed across the angles of his cheekbones. He found a bowl and emptied the fruit into it before tapping at the rim like he had a song stuck in his head.

Content.

That's what he was.

Reese padded past him, brushing her fingers lightly across his back as she moved into the bathroom. In moments like these, his prattle was frozen, quieted by a peace Reese hadn't ever really thought she'd see in his eyes. Her own swept over the black marble floor with its veins of gold and out to the view of the Boudhannath Stupa in all its late afternoon glory. The dark rising spire, ringed with what looked like strands of tiny flags, shone against the flash of white tiers of sculpted steps, where she could see people moving even from this distance. The clouds and threatening weather swept a haze across the horizon, painting the shadows of the fading day in vivid blues that almost reached cerulean and deep Navy. The storm, however, spattered a few drops as she threw the windows open.

If it was going to rain, she wanted to hear it. Rain was different in Nepal, just like everything else.

Her shoulders dropped with a long, soft sigh, as she wandered into the bedroom. From there, she could hear Crews's tenor as he hummed, the tile amplifying his voice. It stopped and was replaced by the easy tones as he ordered room service. Reese heard him moving, her smile flushing her face with color as she caught a bright, citrusy burst as he absently peeled an orange or tangerine or-- God knew what he was playing with.

Her brows knit as she caught sight of something on their pillows and felt her stomach lurch as she moved forward.

There, beneath two chocolates on each pillow, were two Ace of Spades.

Reese backed up, hit the door hard enough to rattle it, and half fell backward, careening into Crews, whose lips caught her hair. He said nothing. He didn't have to, not when she tilted her face up to watch his face harden and all the soft joy drain away. In that moment, Reese was pretty sure there was horrified hate lining her own expression. This was supposed to be a _vacation_. Now? Now it was something else entirely. She felt dizzy and sick and as if she'd quite suddenly been punched in the solar plexus.

"Nabbas," he said, filling the word with the sharp click of a safety going off. This wasn't a warning. Victor Nabbas was telling them the game was _on_.


	3. The Devils We Know

Two days.

He could have waited just a little longer. Three, maybe four days would have been okay, then he could have barged in and broken the lull. Crews watched Reese (the _Dani_ in her was fading by the minute, he could tell) slip a magazine into her gun and put the gun under her pillow. It was a gun he didn't recognize, a big gun. It wasn't as big as _his_ gun, but it was big enough. The safety was on, but that wasn't the point. The point was the fact that every knot he'd worked out of her body in the last two days was back, and she tried to hide the shake in her hands so he wouldn't see. She was rattled hard by Nabbas, not that she'd let anyone see it--not even him if she could help it. She sat, finally still, on the edge of the bed and he sank down beside her, the two Ace of Spades cards in hand.

"How the _fuck_ did he get out of Los Angeles?" she finally asked, casting a sideways glance at him. It was a rhetorical question, though there were more than a few answers he could offer in theory. "Do you think Rayborn helped him?"

"Somehow, I don't think Rayborn really likes Nabbas," Crews said, moving her hair slightly to brush a fingertip against the healing bruises on her neck. They were, at best, unpleasant finger shaped marks, but they were healing. "I think Harriman had a plane waiting for him. I also think Tomas Harriman was monitoring the passport system and when our passports went through Nepalese customs, it triggered a flag and he sent Nabbas here. It's a viable option."

"A highly unpleasant option," Reese said, her voice low and slightly acidic. He curled his fingers around her hand and felt her own close, anchoring the both of them. "But, yeah, _viable_." He glanced down at the cards and then flicked them into the trash. They arced and landed in the small plastic lined bin with a rustle. The _pat pat pat_ of rain on the balcony was softer than he'd thought it would be, and the heat had dropped to a cool fifty-four degrees Fahrenheit after holding steady at seventy-nine. The windows were open and the balcony sheltered the water spatter as they sat in a sudden but not uncomfortable silence.

"We should go to the Stupa," Crews said very softly. "I think we should go there. I've got lots of fruit. Monks like fruit, right? You're supposed to bring something when you go." He'd been thinking about bringing most of the fruit since the day before and he was still thinking about it. Reese gave him a look that was more than a little exasperated. "What? You don't think they'll like the fruit."

"Crews," she said pointedly, "some asshole has a hit out on us _both_."

"_Mmmm_," he rose and pulled her, protesting and with a dark frown, to the window. "You see that, Reese?" Crews pointed to the Boudhanath Stupa, which was lit up like a jewel in the darkening evening. "That is the _holiest_ Stupa outside of Tibet. And we are going there. There are lots and lots of people, all kinds of people. All kinds of people to _see_ things, lots of things, like a man with a crossbow. Tourists, locals, monks, and that place is _filled_ with the Buddha. You know what I think? I think Nabbas is just playing with us and he'll keep playing with us until he herds us on a plane back to Los Angeles. I think he wants us to run home. I don't want to run home."

He felt the soundless, frustrated sigh that made her shoulders slump as she leaned back into him.

"So we're going to run to a tourist attraction, hem him in somehow among thousands of people, and take him back to Los Angeles in cuffs you packed?" Her voice was dry, filled with disbelief as she relaxed into him and he looped his arms around her, smiling into the cloudy night.

"You packed cuffs," Crews said amiably.

"Habit," she muttered defensively.

"Like your gun?" Crews whispered.

"_Yes_, like my gun," she said.

"The gun you hid from Nepalese customs. The FN Frontline forty-five caliber that I know _isn't_ your service weapon." His voice was low and careful as he settled his chin against her hair and she twitched. He felt her tighten like a spring. This was more than rattled and it was about more than Nabbas. And she was shutting down on him, folding herself away where he couldn't reach her. "Hey," he said. "Tell me what's-- Reese?" She blinked at him for a moment and her expression went blank as she turned and walked straight out of the room. Crews stood there for a long moment watching the flags on the Boudahanath Stupa whip in the stiff breeze that made the rain slant in a different direction. There were still a few people out, but the pale roof of the Stupa was emptying as the misting became a drizzle and the wind began to whistle.

He watched the lights of the city flicker behind the curtain of rain for a moment longer and closed his eyes, slowly counting to ten. Crews heard the hiss of water that broke the quiet as he moved into the bathroom. Reese stood staring at the tub as it filled, watching the water lap up its side in silence, her clothes puddled in folds of earth tones and baby blues, like the comforter he'd left behind in Los Angeles. The healing slice on her arm stood out, stark against her skin even in this low light, and he watched her in the same silence she lived in. Outside, the city was full of noise and people even as the sun finally disappeared, shut away by the storm and the progression of time. Inside, in this room, darkness had settled over Reese, over him, and he moved back out into the living room to light a candle, then two. He shrugged his shoes off, watching the flames flicker as he removed his socks. He stood there for awhile, anchoring himself for a few moments, pulling the Zen up around him like a breath of fresh air. A candle in each hand, he padded back into the bathroom.

Reese sat, not particularly focused on anything at all, her back pressed against the sculpted corner of the tub and he set the candles down on the wide window sill. The rain glittered in streams as the candlelight hit it and he sat near her, rolling his pants up to his knees to dangle his legs into the tub.

"You still have nightmares about Roman, don't you?" he asked her. Reese blinked and swallowed, but didn't answer him. "I have them, too. Not the same ones, but I dream." Crews drew a breath. "I dream that he shoots you himself, right through your heart and there's nothing I can say or do that will stop him. I dream that I'm too late. I dream that I'm eighteen and I'm with you, where Roman took you when you were a kid. I _dream_--"

"Shut up," she said abruptly.

"I dream I'm there," Crews murmured, "and I--"

"Shut _up_," she snapped. He smiled, glancing down at her.

"And I kill Roman Nevikov," he whispered as her fingers caught his shirt and pulled him down. "I killed him, in my dream, so he wouldn't ever touch you again." He watched her eyes close. "And I killed him in that car--"

"_Crews_," she hissed, her eyes snapping open. "Don't."

"I killed him in that car," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers, "so he wouldn't _ever _touch you again." Her felt her breath catch and the shudder that ran the length of her body. He steadied her, his fingers against the nape of her neck. _Dani._ Her eyes shone almost fever bright in the flickering candlelight, her skin beaded with the water she'd filled the tub with to soak away her demons. "Never again."

"That," she said in a thick voice, "wasn't very Zen."

"No," he murmured. "It wasn't, was it?"


	4. Buddha Warns

Reese didn't sleep.

She grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from her bag, stilling for a moment as Charlie shifted and buried his lips against her hip. She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again and brushing her fingertips through his hair as gently as she could. He stirred but didn't wake and she watched him for awhile. They had so much and so little all at once, each of them clinging onto some tiny piece of life they had claimed for themselves.

And this? Now? It was supposed to be theirs, too.

Reese started writing, each stroke of her pen soaking blue ink into the white of the lined paper while false dawn warmed the sky. She wrote of Nabbas, creating a profile, predicting actions, pulling in all her knowledge of criminal and deviant behavior. He was an addict, she realized by page four of her notes and circled the observation. Victor Nabbas got off on the hunt and the thrill of driving his prey into whatever perfect set up he needed to kill them _his_ way. It might not be the crossbow this time at all, after all, it was personal, now. Knives, maybe. Not a gun. Like a crossbow, it would have become too impersonal. She scribbled down a few alternatives; poison, garrote, torture, strangulation--all of them very personal. But they lacked _ritual_.

If he was going to kill them, it wouldn't be quick, and it'd have significance. _Personal_ significance. Reese rubbed at her eyes and set her primer down, shoving a hand through her hair before sliding very carefully off the bed and padding over to grab the pale yellow batik sari she'd gotten the other day. The light silk fell against her skin, whisper soft as she carefully tied the belt around her waist and secured the matching pashmina with its equally pale gold patterns. It was plain and not particularly extravagant. When she looked in the mirror, she didn't even recognize herself, especially without makeup. Reese slipped her sandals on and secured enough currency to buy breakfast before leaving Charlie a note.

He was going to be unhappy about her going anywhere without him and she grimaced at the thought.

No one glanced at her as she walked the streets in the early morning haze and the noise of a city that never truly slept washed over her in waves. Early morning chanting echoed from the Boudhanath Stupa as she headed away from it. Against a building, two young boys in caps glanced up, the pages of their blue school workbooks flapping in the light breeze as they collaborated, pencils flashing. She heard a voice murmuring in Hindi carrying through an open window as a woman chanted. It was not yet four-thirty in the morning and yet the city was alive in the shadow of the Boudhanath Stupa Charlie insisted the go to see in the evening. Reese watched a woman sifting what looked like grain and stepped carefully around a little girl who was eating fruit on a front step, her wide black eyes staring out at the street as people passed.

As always, the city itself seemed to speak in the high tones of bus horns, the _ring, ring, ring_ of bicycle bells, and the chatter of people beginning another day. She called on her undercover skills to blend in, stepping how others stepped, moving with the easy motion she saw in the woman who flashed her quick, shy smiles. Reese let the city itself guide her. At the moment, it didn't matter where she was going, though she stopped to buy breakfast (enough for two) that was called _puri takari_. It was bread, soup, vegetables, and _chapati, _which was much like a whole wheat Mexican tortilla, only thicker. The tea and milk could be gotten at the hotel, as, she was sure, could the actual breakfast she'd just walked to get. There was something about going _out_ that needed to be done, regardless of how Charlie handled her absence. He, of all people, would understand her need to breathe.

Reese turned a corner to double back and return to the hotel when a hand pulled her into the shelter of a building. She found herself staring into pale, pale green eyes that had a touch of gold to them. The dark skinned woman pulled her further into the alcove, smiling reassuringly. Some of the immediate flash of concern dimmed as the woman's hands steadied the basket Reese had been carrying. The muted greens of her sari were interwoven with red-browns and her feet were bare. This wasn't a trap.

"Mickey Rayborn," the woman whispered, her accent flicking his name about lightly, "has told me, yes, that I should watch for you. He says that your friend Victor Nabbas is here in Nepal, this you know. But," a slim finger went up, "what it is that you must do is not become frightened. Be in possession of your full wits, Dani Reese. This sari of yours was a good idea. It suits you. I almost did not know you. It is your partner who shall stick out. He is not easily blended in, he shall not do for much besides...how do you say it? Bait? It is worth a thought."

Reese's stomach tightened at the thought.

"I am Nijilla and I am," her chin tilted as she smiled, "here to help. Mister Rayborn has many like me and we are ears, mouths, and hands. He wishes you both to be protected. He has told me that you will always be his favorite and Charlie Crews is not expendable. No matter what the other one thinks, he will do what he can, Rayborn will." Nijilla peered out at the street for a moment. "It is safe, now. When you are entering the hotel, do so by a back door. It will be best. Do not use the front lobby once more."

"Where did you--" Reese began, but Njilla grinned.

"I was not always what you see," she said. "I have been police in many places. Do not think Mickey Rayborn is limited to just the United States. That would be foolish. Go, have your breakfast with your lover. He will be becoming anxious. It is like that man to worry when you are unsure about the future from one moment to the next. Ah. The _chapati_ you bought is very good. I enjoy the stall you bought it from very much. Go now. Perhaps I shall meet you and your Charlie Crews another day." Reese's eyebrows arched. "That Nabbas man shall make a circuit in another twenty minutes. He circles like a vulture."

Reese sighed, rubbing at her temple for a moment, and then nodded.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"You may tell Charlie Crews that the Stupa is ready for him," Nijilla murmured almost lazily, a sparkle of something hidden in her eyes as she shoved Reese out. With a puzzled look, Reese wandered back in the direction of the hotel as sunrise lit the sky in a vivid wash of color. Her feet were almost soundless as she moved into their room and she frowned when she heard Charlie's voice along with that of another man's.

It was not Mickey Rayborn, but his voice was just as familiar. An instantly recognizable white head turned, a huge grin on his face.

"Ted?" she gasped, setting her basket down against the counter before she dropped it. "...what the hell?"

"Surprise?" he said sheepishly and then peered at the basket from where he sat on the couch. "Is that breakfast?"


	5. Bottled Sunlight

Crews was silent, his eyes running over her face as she let the pashmina go, catching herself against the counter with two fingers. The fabric fell like sunlight against water until it draped across her shoulders, forgotten in her surprise. He remembered how to breathe again in moments as he held up her note. Her expression softened and he felt her silent apology.

"It was supposed to be for two," Reese said dryly, then stepped forward to snatch, and consequently trash, the offending note.

"Ted came to say hi," Crews said brightly.

"Yes," Ted muttered, "Ted came to say hi." He reached for the bread but stopped as Reese glared daggers and quickly folded his hands behind his back. Reeses could be vipers and it was best not to antagonize them. Both of them. He and Ted knew all about vipers-the sentiment was shared as his friend glanced over at him with a slightly chastised expression.

"Hi, Ted," she grumbled, not exactly unpleasantly.

"Hi, Reese," he said, the twist of his voice wry. "Charlie?"

"Yes, Ted?"

"Remember what I said, okay?"

"Sure."

"Ah, Reese?" Her dark eyes flicked to Ted's as she frowned. He shuffled toward the door and offered her a typical _Ted_ grin. "The sari looks good. I'm gonna, you know-" He thumbed at the door. "Olivia's waiting for me downstairs. Breakfast. I'll just, yeah- Um." He made a face and ducked out the door.

It shut with what Crews could only surmise was an ominous click. Patiently, he waited for Reese to round on him, but she didn't move, she just stared at him. He took his time, his head canted slightly as he came within inches of her.

"I saw your notes," he said, his voice almost too soft. Reese was taut for a moment, then leaned into his chest wordlessly, her arms loose around his waist. "I agree with them," his chin settled on the top of her head thoughtfully.

"He's circling the hotel at regular intervals," Reese said, her voice sharp for all the softness of her whisper. His eyebrows arched as he smoothed his hands up her arms.

"You came in from the back entrance?" He felt her nod and felt her hard at work, thinking. "Good. Next time, we go out a side door."

"I'm sure as _hell_ not staying inside," Reese said. Her voice was a low, threatening growl and he smiled lazily as he dropped a kiss against her hair. Her ferocity matched his own need for freedom perfectly. Nabbas wasn't going to win this very psychological game he had begun with them.

"That smells good," Crews mumbled, reaching for the basket to peer into it. Distracted, he didn't quite realize Reese had slipped away to find plates until she was back with them. They ate in silence, relishing the spices and mouthwatering tang of the food as it lit their taste buds. There was no such thing as boring Indian food, he decided as his thigh brushed his partner's.

When he was finished, he sat there with his eyes closed, drifting. Reese was still beside him as the bells began to chime, her hand resting against his thigh. From far below, came the sound of someone singing and he breathed the sound of it in. It was a beautiful illusion of serenity-one he wanted to pull around them both.

"So," Reese whispered, "why is he really here?"

"Ted?" He kept his eyes closed, almost humming under his breath. She shifted, impatient, and he could feel the way she tightened beside him. Crews hated it when she was that tight.

"You'll see," was all he said. The frown she powered in his direction was almost tangible.

"_Crews_," she said, her voice low in warning.

"I know, you hate surprises. But this is the good kind. I promise." Reese said nothing and he opened his eyes to find her scrutinizing the Stupa. "You don't want to go." Crews's voice fell even as he tried to hide his disappointment. She turned back to him, her dark eyes finally softening, settling from seasoned detective into something more private, something she shared only with him.

"It's a massive risk," she said, her voice barely audible. He knew she was torn between going out there and staying in, but she hated being caged in the way they both hated it.

"Life is a massive risk, every day, every moment," he murmured, brushing a forefinger along her jaw before stroking her bottom lip with his thumb. Her eyes closed briefly and her breath caught. "We came here," he leaned in to kiss her, the angle awkward, "for," she tilted into him, shifting slightly, "a reason."

Her fingers touched his shoulder, slid to his back, and he realized they were both shaking, just a little. They'd been places, seen things, and they were rattled by this, by Nabbas. Her lips were gone, trailing fire across his cheekbone until she found his ear.

"Charlie." His name was soft, warm, full of things he knew she couldn't express even if could get the words out. His hands found her hips and settled as she buried her lips against the join of his neck and shoulder. They'd come here for a reason-to heal, to find themselves. Nabbas wasn't going to destroy that. He pulled her in close and felt her back arch as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Crews laughed softly and rose with the morning light streaming across the earth toned room.

The sari gathered in sunlit golds, pooling and draping over his arms. He drew a breath to steady himself as he set her down on the edge of the bed. For a moment, all he could do was stare. The light fell between the curtains that were blowing in a gust of warm wind-it lit her face up, and for a moment she looked ethereal, as if she were glowing from within. It shook him more when she took his hands and wordlessly helped him take the sari off without letting her eyes stray from his.

Her name was a breath he'd been holding. Crews half shook his head as his shirt slid over the side of the bed and her fingers worked at the drawstrings on his very comfortable pants. He didn't notice anything but her-the feel of her, the scent of her, the way the spices they'd had with breakfast mingled as their lips met. She tasted like the market she'd come from, like the air that had touched her skin, like the sunlight that bathed them both in this moment. His fingers were in her hair, her teeth were against his shoulder, he was on his back, and her face was a dream that he'd had when there was silence and darkness. His fingers reached for her cheek, brushed her jawline, the column of her neck, her collarbone, smoothed along the curve of her breast and fell against her hip.

He remembered apple pie, the sight of her as they drove home from Hell and the way her sunglasses flashed as he turned away from her and into the wind. He remembered that first day with his face tilted up into the sun as she snapped at him, annoyed when he didn't answer. He thought, now, that he'd have gone mad without her, that the con would have eaten him alive, that he'd never had gotten here, now, without her, that- That she was burning in his arms, blotting out the danger, blotting out the shadows, and reforging the daylight into something uniquely theirs.

And he was going to hang onto that moment for as long as he could. Nabbas and the rest of the world could wait.


	6. Lotus White

Something was definitely going on. It was a cool very late afternoon in Kathmandu when they wandered out the side entrance and mixed with the humming, milling crowd. Crews had elected to wear traditional dress, a high colored and traditional white dress tunic. He managed to make it look elegant and effortless at the same time, something that was as confusing as anything else Crews did. Reese chose a muted cream sari with a delicate white lotus blossom print at the edges. The scattered falling petals that dotted the rest of the fabric reminded her of the dream she'd had about orange blossoms bursting into flame. She left her hair loose rather than pull it back, and was thankful she'd let it grow back out as it now obscured her face.

The noise of the streets was ever-present, just as the scents were. On the wind she was sure she could smell lotus incense and the sharper scent of cinnamon. She'd gotten used to it, all of it, though the cop in her had watchful eyes, looking for danger. She leaned into Crews, adopting the walk of the woman to her left and slid a glance to him. The hat he wore was not white, but charcoal with a hint of brown, like the vest he'd found somewhere while she'd been fitted for her sari, and somehow it made him look different.

More at peace.

Absently, his fingers curled across her knuckles as they walked in a seemingly patternless stroll towards the Boudhanath Stupa. He was quiet in the way that meant he was full of too many thoughts, but not so much that he couldn't keep them inside. Her own fingers tightened briefly against his arm and he looked down. She watched his expression shift into a silent question, then shift again into an almost secretive smile-it was in the slight tug of his lips and brief arch of his eyebrows.

_Fine_, she thought, _be that way_.

He wasn't going to tell her a goddamn thing. That became more and more obvious as they drew closer to the Stupa. Late afternoon was slowly giving way to twilight as they climbed the stairs toward the daunting heights. They were careful to blend in as much as possible, and sometimes their back were to the wall, their profiles made slim and difficult to pick out. The crowd thinned and a monk flashed a wave to Crews as Reese's eyebrows arched high.

"Greetings to you, Mister Crews," he said, his serene smile wrinkling his already aged features further. He put his hands together and gestured. "This way, please."

"Crews," Reese hissed, her expression a clear '_What the hell?_' He smiled in much the same manner as the monk, beatific, with a touch of amusement that seemed to make his eyes sparkle. They moved through the interior of the Stupa for a moment, and she drank the interior in with wide, startled eyes. It was gorgeous, and everywhere she looked there were rich colors and intensely beautiful sculptures. They exited after too brief a time, and wound up on the roof-a part where there were no people, far away from the crowds.

The monk flicked a gesture and disappeared.

Before them was a covered tray and two pillows for sitting, her eyebrow twitched as Crews pulled away and cupped her face in his hands. She looked up at him, brow furrowed, her dark eyes confused. The sun flared through the clouds and the wind sighed by, this high up it keened just a little.

"What day is it?" he asked softly. _Oh God_. She frowned deeper and he kissed her lips gently. "Dani, what day is it?" He kissed her again, slowly, carefully, and broke her resolve just as slowly, his voice nudging, insistent.

"My birthday," she finally acknowledged, not looking at him, her eyes averted, and her expression torn between annoyed and _touched_ that he'd remembered. He tilted her chin up and smiled in a way that made him look ten years younger.

"Yes," he said, his laugh as soft as his fingers against her cheek. The air was cool, more so when his fingers left her cheek to pull out a small box.

"Charlie," she said very quietly, "you brought me to Kathmandu for my _birthday_." He wordlessly pressed the box into her hands. "What." She tilted the red velvet box around, nudging it with her fingers, her mouth a tightening line.

"Open it," he said, and though he was trying very hard not to, he looked like a little boy who wanted nothing better than to bounce on the balls of his feet with excitement. "Open it, Dani."

Very carefully, she did just that. Nestled into the soft lining of the box was a tiny silver dot of a necklace, one that had a perfect lotus etched into its metallic surface. Her lips trembled for a moment and she blinked from the necklace to Crews.

"You can wear it on the job," he whispered, his fingers reaching for it as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "No one will know." It was light and when he clasped it around her neck it lay perfectly, nestled against the hollow of her throat. Her eyes found his. This was more than a necklace, they both knew it, and they weren't going to talk about it.

"I can wear it on the job," she murmured, feeling for all the world as if she were suddenly struck dumb. He smiled down at her as a gust of wind rushed by and stole his hat. Bemused, Crews just watched it sail away. In that moment, she leaned up and kissed him fiercely until they were both breathless. His hands slid down her back for a moment when she pulled away, letting her lips rest against his.

"I'll wear it," Reese said.

"I know." His voice was a soft rumble as he brushed her hair back. "I know you will. I think that-" Reese caught motion and shoved him back as something metal twanged by. Embedded in the stone was bolt. The air whistled and she shuddered as she crouched low-Crews's face was bloodless as she stared at him.

And then she saw it.

Blood was soaking through his tunic, staining the pure white fabric deep red. She didn't notice that it had begun to rain until she was shivering.


	7. Oceantide

Crews remembered watching Dani's pendant swing as she pushed him away. He also remembered something hitting him solidly. It hadn't been much, he thought, a bit like getting punched, but then he'd looked down as that dull ache got sharper. He felt remarkably calm for a long moment, even as Reese leaned over him, her voice rising and falling. His fingers curled around her wrist long enough to squeeze and then everything was quiet and muted. The noise came back later, insistent, along with pain. He thought, hazily, that it was a bit like the ocean. The water crashed in and pulled back, leaving a minute gap in sound.

Ted's face appeared sometime later, with Olivia's bright red hair in the background. Reese looked tired, quietly talking to a man in a white coat. _Hospital_. That's where he was, now it made sense. The world swung crazily for a moment and a wave of unconciousness rushed back in. He didn't dream, not under the hazy blackness of exhaustion. The world was silent, quiet, and he drifted.

"Charlie?" The black dissolved into gray what seemed like ages later. Ted's face swam into view. "Hey." Crews croaked in response, but it was an effort. "They got it out."

_It_, he remembered belatedly, was a crossbow bolt.

"Reese?"

"She left to find coffee," Ted said, making a face. "The doctors told her to get some sleep, but-" He shrugged and Crews almost laughed, except the entire right side of his chest protested. There was no force on Earth that would make Dani Reese do anything she didn't want to do. "Pretty sure she'll be back soon."

He slept again and dreamed.

_Crews stood on a beach, watching the waves crash against the perfectly white shore, his feet bare. Reese stood next to him, her fingers tangled with his. They were both wearing white. White, white, white. There was so much white. She looked up at him and offered him an orange blossom, but he took it and wove it into her hair._ _"Are you real?" he asked, when the crashing of the waves were too much. She smiled and they stopped walking as he pulled her close. "Because I think you're not really here. I think I'm not either. The world is wrong. Everything is wrong." He paused, worry jangling him until it was like an itch he couldn't scratch. "I think I need to wake up, now."_

_The sky bled into burnt orange as she leaned up into him. Behind her the waves were turning blood red and Arthur Tins stood there, pointing at him. He turned into Nabbas and aimed his crossbow at Reese._

_"Crews," she whispered against his lips, "you need to wake up." He felt her body jerk and felt warmth spread over his hands. "Crews. Wake up." Blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth, and her smile became a scream. _

_"Charlie!"_

And he woke.

The chair next to his bed was empty, tossed sideways, and the coffee cup that sat next to it was upended. There was blood spatter, he could see it splattered against the off-white of the chair. Crews hit the alarm on his bed just as Ted came in, holding the a bandage to his head. Their eyes met.

Reese was gone.


	8. Limbo's Grace

She woke cold, her head throbbing, in the back of a truck-no a van. It was a van. _God_, she'd been in this place before. With Roman. The panic rose like a wave and Reese had to remind herself that panicking wasn't going to get her anywhere. When she tried to open her eyes red streaks flashed past and she bit down on the sound that tried to crawl out and closed them. Her arm ached, but so did her left thigh, neither of those hurt as much as her head. Reese tried to remember where she'd been and what she'd been doing. The haze of it was still there, the missing pieces were like a jigsaw puzzle floating around in her mind.

Coffee.

_Crews_. Crews in a hospital bed. Not _that_ hospital bed. This was different. Not a bullet, but something cruder, a crossbow bolt. She'd been angry, but the anger had hid her fear like a shield. Reese never allowed the fear to win. _Never_.

Ted had been there, worriedly wearing the hallway down one step at a time, one pass at a time. Olivia had gone back to the hotel, ostensibly to make phone calls. Who she was calling, Reese didn't know, but she and Ted had been talking urgently for about half an hour before she left.

She remembered the flash of his silver hair as she talked to the doctor for the ninth time. It had been an easy removal, no barbs, nothing to leave more than the scarred entry wound. Reese had frowned, then, because Nabbas was more than a good shot. He could have killed Crews by aiming higher if he'd wanted to—but he hadn't. Reese remembered, in the foggiest of ways, sitting next to Crews in that horrible little plastic chair, sipping her coffee. And then? And then it was blank. Terrifyingly blank.

The van lurched and she fought a near overwhelming surge of nausea.

Nabbas. She was with _Nabbas_.

Her heart pounded at the thought, but she took a few calming breaths, _thinking_, clinging to logic. She could get out of this, she could do this. There was always a right time to act, to move, and she'd have to wait for it. Reese tried to focus through the lurching and the way everything seemed to blur and shift around her. _Focus_. Her hands and feet were both tied—solid knots, tight ones— but she worked on them anyway. She was gagged as well, with a cloth that had been twisted around itself and tied tight enough that the corners of her lips burned. It was bitter tasting. The strong scent of sour bile, too, permeated the space.

_Great_. Not only had she been taken captive by a raving madman of an assassin, she'd already vomited once. Head trauma seemed the likely suspect with the way hers was screaming. Reese did the next best thing she could think about-she focused on everything outside of herself. There were too many bangs and scrapes and stabbing sensations to be clear about anyway.

The streets they were moving through were rough, more like stretches of vegetation. That meant somewhere remote, but relatively flat. It also meant that Nabbas knew Kathmandu and its surrounding areas fairly well. It was a minus in her column and a plus in his. But then again, she'd learned patience in moments like this. It had been a gift from Crews, his Zen, his way of being detached in order to see the world around him clearly.

It was his way of looking for the moment. _The_ moment. It was like the chess she'd used to play against her grandfather when he was still alive. He said that you always needed to think five moves ahead in a game against someone who knew what they were doing. She'd pretty much hated chess, but she learned it for the moment in which she checkmated Grandpa Reese. Satisfied, they never played another match, lesson learned. Think ahead. Learn his game. Be _patient_.

She hated being patient. It was anathema, but she was trying-for Crews, for herself. Impatience, at this point, was liable to get her shot with one of Nabbas's goddamn crossbow bolts right between the eyes. She had to do this right. Reese had to play on her skills as an undercover cop, the acting skills she'd developed, the watchful ones, the wily survivor ones. If she could just loosen the knots a little more, maybe she could get a hand—

The van lurched to an abrupt stop, flinging her into the solid back wall of the van. The dull thud of impact was followed by a bright flash of white, which sent her spiralling into the dark abyss she'd pulled herself from in the first place. It came slower than she might have liked and swayed like a tethered boat washing fear, nausea, and revulsion over her. The last thing she felt was a rush of rain-soaked air and the sensation of being dragged by her feet.

_Be patient, Dragonfish_.

_Patient._

One man. No, not right. One _killer_. No help. Reese prayed that she could find the opening and she prayed that Nabbas still needed to play his game. As the white turned to black, she was vaguely conscious of hitting the ground hard enough to rattle her teeth. She'd wake up. She'd wake up and she'd play cat and mouse like this asshole wanted. Reese knew she could do it. Hopefully this wasn't going to cost her something she couldn't win back. Like her life.

_Jesus Christ_, she thought, _I'm going to dance with the Devil_.


	9. Aces High

"Ted, this wasn't what I had in mind for Reese's birthday," Crews said, his voice muted as he stared across the space.

"I know," he murmured, staring at his hands almost helplessly. "I'm- I'm sorry, Charlie."

"Did you tell her mother to delay the trip?" He'd had Ted change her ticket for a few days from now, just to be safe. The last thing he wanted was her mother holed up in a hotel, terrified that her daughter was dead. The woman had gone through enough. Dani had gone through enough, too, but he had a feeling that it would have come down to this no matter where they'd gone. Maybe that was the most horrifying part about it. Then again, it was one more reason why he had to find Harriman, track him down, and- A hand touched his uninjured shoulder, interrupting the bite of his thoughts.

"Olivia called," Ted said, his own voice betraying the worry that stalked them both. "Mrs. Reese wanted to know what was going on, but-" He shrugged and shoved his thick fingers through his hair as if that said everything. Crews paced carefully, ignoring the doctor who stood in the doorway.

Nabbas had made her _bleed_ and not just a little. There was enough blood to tell him he'd used a knife.

"Tidwell is still flying out."

"Is he?" Crews frowned absently and then brushed past the doctor, buttoning his sharp blue blazer and adjusting his tie.

"He'll be landing in about an hour, earlier if he has anything to say about it." Ted didn't meet his eyes at all. "Called while you were in surgery." The latter was said slowly, as if trying to gauge his mood about having Tidwell around. Crews said nothing, his eyes fixed ahead.

He had a little trouble with the button, but Ted said nothing. Neither did the doctor, who had him sign paperwork absolving the hospital and himself from a lawsuit if any further aggravation of the injury came about. Crews decided he didn't care, and Ted got them a taxi back to the hotel. The rain wasn't warm or inviting or peaceful. It was a hard, angry rain.

Reese was somewhere out there, hurt, and in the hands of a man who would kill her as slowly as he could. He trusted her. He trusted her to find a way through it, to live, to come back to him. Crews sank into the soft living room chair, his hand over his eyes. Nabbas would want somewhere remote, somewhere outside of the city proper, and Reese had been gone for two hours and fifty-eight seconds. Fifty-nine. The closest edge of the city that bordered on remote, was toward the southeast where there weren't very many towns or villages. He was almost sure that Nabbas had gone that way. Any other direction wouldn't have been feasible.

"Charlie?" He glanced up at Ted only to watch his friend sink onto the edge of the couch, the phone in hand. "You're gonna want to take this." Crews stared at the hotel phone dangling from Ted's fingers and frowned.

"This is Charlie Crews," he said, his voice all ice. Ted's expression had confirmed who it was and the look of alarm just made him a very angry Crews.

"Detective. Your move." The line went dead as a knock sounded at the hotel door. Crews pulled open the door, but there was no one there, just a package, its brown paper packaging rain-spattered. A familiar voice filled the corridor.

"Detective Crews!" Tidwell was hurrying down the plush carpeting, flustered and clearly out of place. Crews took one look at the man's harried expression and stubbled face and knew he'd neither slept, showered, or bothered to change his clothes since his plane had landed. Neither of them had jurisdiction in Nepal and they stood there awkwardly for a moment. "You gonna open that?"

Tidwell gestured.

Crews turned away and left the door open, a silent invitation for his very off-duty superior to join him. Outside, the storm had grown worse, plunging the temperature into the low forties. Crews found his pocket knife and flicked it open, neatly slicing the strings that held the paper to the box, intent upon nothing else but its contents.

"Shouldn't you check that for-" Tidwell began, but fell silent as Crews lifted the lid. Inside was Reese's pashmina, soiled with dirt and blood. "Shit." Crews's eyebrows arched as he silently agreed with that sentiment, then found the neatly written note.

_I'm enjoying our time together, Detective. Aren't you? By now, I suppose you've noticed that you're missing something. She means nothing to me, but to you? Well, I think we can both agree on her worth to you. This will end in blood, Detective Crews. We both know that._

_The list of coordinates I have given you will get you to where you need to be. Only one is correct. Every hour you delay will cost you. I'm sure you can imagine where I'm headed. He told me I could have my fun, after all, so long as I killed you in the end. I do intend to have that fun any way I can._

It wasn't signed, but an ace of Spades was pinned to the bottom of the note. On it, were a set of five coordinates. As if they needed any more goading, Nabbas had provided them with a single photograph that showed a stretch of relatively flat land, a small hut, and a hole in the ground. A hole big and deep enough to fit a person. Crews almost tore the map getting it out and Tidwell took the letter by its edges, cursing under his breath as Ted reached for the phone. Nepalese police would have to be updated, since the first thing Ted had done was give them a call.

Of course this was fun to a man like Nabbas. He'd wanted this game long before he'd killed that prison guard, long before Harriman had sent him to silence both Crews _and_ Reese. That was absolutely no contest.

Tidwell peered at the photograph, trying to be as calm as possible, but his knee jiggled with the tension he couldn't shake. It was like Roman, maybe worse. Maybe. Crews took his pen and drew lines from the hospital to each of the coordinates, spider-webbing them together quickly. Coordinates were easy, getting there would require some effort.

"Time stamp says it's from three days ago," Tidwell said half to himself. "This wacko-nutbag has been _planning_ this for awhile. Bet that crossbow crap was just to keep you down long enough to grab Reese. I guess separating you two was a good idea considering you work best together." Crews flicked a glance at the other man, his jaw hard. "From his point of view." Tidwell leaned up against the door frame, photo in hand, his face dark with anger.

He paused and put the photo down into the counter by its edges.

"You did get to, you know," he waved slightly, "do your thing, right? Before he-"

"Later," Crews said in a soft, dangerous voice. "Can you get here?" He pointed to a spot on the map. Tidwell swallowed his curiosity and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I can get there."

Crews looked up as the police arrived. He nodded to them and they to him, and then they got down to figuring out who was going to canvas the other areas. He had his picked out—the likeliest of spots, the one his gut said was right. He could feel her hanging on, waiting. Waiting for her moment. They'd pick up the pieces together, later. And maybe, just maybe, they'd get a vacation out of it where no one was trying to murder them.

He could hope and dream, just a little.

Grabbing a bright green apple, Crews headed out the door wordlessly, a flanked by three cops and Ted. Tidwell was behind them with the task force he was tagging along with. The crunch of the apple left him clear and sharp, though he felt as cold as the wind outside. Nabbas was right on one thing.

This was going to end in blood.


	10. Devil Undone

"Wake up."

The command permeated her awareness, pulling her from the blessed darkness into the full blown chaos of consciousness. More so when the cold water hit her. Her eyes snapped open, but she wished they hadn't. They ached in protest, but she managed to crack them and glower at the same time. She was vaguely aware that she probably wasn't exactly effective at this point. Her entire face protested the twist of facial muscles from her lips to her forehead. She did notice that the gag was gone, though she was still bound. Her wrists and ankles both felt raw, but she stayed still, her eyes on Nabbas as he peered at her.

Thin fingers tilted her head this way and that and he smiled as if satisfied.

"He's very slow," Nabbas said, his voice disgusted. "I didn't expect him to take so long. I thought he was smarter, I suppose. Did you know that it's been five hours?" He sighed. "I may just have to get on with it."

"Get on," Reese pushed the words out, "with what?"

"Killing you, of course," Nabbas said, shrugging. "He's wasting my precious time, after all. It's my turn to waste _yours_."

"I get to ask," she said, scowling, "one question."

His eyebrows arched.

"Tomas Harriman," she snapped. "Where is he?"

"Under your nose," Nabbas said, laughing. "He's right under your goddamn nose, Detective Reese. Not that you'll have the chance to find him."

Reese worked on her knots as he moved around the room and memorized the layout. She could only see one entrance, but knew there had to be at least two. It wasn't big enough to do much more than sleep in, and the floor was bare, dusty. He hadn't given her a cot, so her back was up against wood and her cheek against the cold earth. Nabbas looked comfortable, _cocky_, like he'd done this before. She tried to take slow, even breaths as she loosened a knot to the point where she could slip a hand free. The release and relief of it made her clamp down on a cry, but she'd done it. Even freeing herself wasn't a guarantee of escape, but it was better than being tied up, waiting for him to kill her.

He leaned in close enough that she had to stifle a compulsion to bite his nose off.

"I've got a lovely surprise for you," he whispered. He didn't bother with her hands, but snagged her feet. The world flipped and her cheek barked solidly against the floor. It was then that she saw it—the discarded crossbow bolt. It brushed by her fingers and she tucked up the sleeve of her sari, grateful she'd gone with the long sleeve version. It took some twisting to manage it, but she made it look like resistance.

The shock of the driving rain helped curb her nausea, though it came back a moment later when Nabbas hauled her upright. His fingers closed around her neck as he smiled with the rain glancing off his cheeks. Reese was reminded of every horror and suspense film known to man. He was perfectly calm, his smile slight, and his expression—the one that said she was about to die—seemed as if it were etched into the marble lines of his hard face. She followed his glance and found herself within an inch of a grave; a wet, partially water-filled grave.

_Hers_.

Reese's fingers slid down the shaft of the bolt. There was a brief flare of pain as the sharp head sliced her palm. He glanced up and away for a moment, distracted by a sound in the distance. She took her moment, and used the bolt like a dagger with the weight of her body behind the thrust. With her hands free of the ropes, it was a balancing act, and the thrust turned into a slice that ripped upward, catching his exposed throat rather than his chest. Nabbas let out an angry, garbled sound, but she had the satisfaction of watching the shock spread across his features. He tried to push her back, but found himself unable to do so as he clapped a hand over the now gushing wound. Reese almost landed on top of him when he fell, her skin cold, her feet numb, but she dug around Nabbas, searching him in the moments she had before he recovered his senses.

He did so faster than she imagined and the backhand came far too soon. The world went red, sky and earth seemed to mix for a moment, and then she fell back into herself. Nabbas was spitting unintelligible curses at her, the weight of his body grinding her into the already muddy earth. Her fingers closed around the gun he'd dug out of some side pocket she hadn't had time to search. It was a small caliber and she had both hands on it as she used every last iota of strength in her body to buck upward. The first shot just barely grazed her temple and the bright flare of pain was dizzying.

She twisted the gun, her expression vicious, determined.

A shot rang out.

Nabbas looked shocked for a moment as he rocked backward. In a moment of understanding, she realized that she'd shot him straight through his left eye. The momentum carried him backward, away from her, away from Crews, away from the living. Bone-weary, Reese watched the clouds roll and then closed her eyes. What seemed like hours later, voices called out in the distance.

Familiar voices.

She let them pass until arms were around her. Careful arms. Arms she knew. Murmuring came along with the sound of a siren, and she tried to say that she was just fine, but it came out slow and probably little more than gibberish. Time was slow and moments seemed to pass in and out. When she did wake, she felt better. The headache was finally gone and when she was able to finally open her eyes, she saw Crews, passed out with his cheek against the edge of the bed.

It looked entirely uncomfortable.

"Charlie." His name came out graveled and he woke with a start. Her fingers touched his cheek and she managed a smile before she let them drop.

"Hey," he said, sounding as tired as she was.

"Hey." The word left her mouth before his lips found hers. The kiss was infinitely gentle, full of everything from sunshine to fear to relief, and she soaked him in like a balm. "How long?"

"A few days," he said quietly. "They said you're okay for the most part." He touched her bruised cheek, his smile crooked. "You have a hard head, but I told them that. No one listened to me, though." His shrug was so _Charlie_ that she let out a laugh. "Got you some tangerines."

Her lips smoothed into another smile just as her still puffy eyes watered.

"He's dead," she murmured. "Nabbas?"

"Very dead," Crews murmured, his lips against her forehead. "Doc says I can take you back to the hotel when you're feeling up to it." She snorted softly and he pulled away, reaching for the consent forms. It took her a moment to sign them.

"I don't want a wheelchair, Crews," she said, but it came out as a sigh as she slid herself to the edge of the bed. A nurse unhooked her and pulled the IV out. Reese stubbornly got to her feet, testing her body out. Everything was sore and she might have wobbled for a moment as she got her legs back under her, but Crews didn't say a damn thing.

It took her about half an hour to get dressed and fifteen minutes more to get back to the hotel. When they were alone in the room, they stood in silence, staring at each other. Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around him, and he tucked her in close, letting his cheek fall against the top of her head. They stayed that way for an hour until the tolling bells shifted them.

Crews pulled something from his pocket and she watched the lotus blossom pendant swing free, glittering in the light. His smile was soft and his eyes were cornflower blue as he bent to clasp it around her neck.

Her fingers brushed it and then caught his lips.

"Happy birthday, Dani Reese," he whispered.


	11. One Hand Clapping

The rain stopped the next morning, he could feel it even before his eyes opened to the soft glow of pre-dawn. Packing had begun around Reese as she slept, though she woke more often than not. Crews had done his best to be quiet and to have everything ready-more than ready in some cases. He let her sleep until far past noon, as long as she could.

Tousle-headed and bleary eyed when she did rise, he said nothing but handed her a cup of coffee with cream and sugar and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows. The sun streamed in throwing long, lean shadows behind him while Reese sipped her coffee to shake the events of the last few days and weeks away. Crews smiled and let himself bake a little, like a content cat with his eyes closed. He felt her shift forward until her legs brushed his shoulder blades and her hair swung forward to curl against his ear.

"You sure you never dreamed about the dress?" he asked softly, tilting his head back against her knees. Her lips found his forehead and she snorted softly.

"Nope."

"_Mm_." Lazily, she ran her fingers through his hair. "Not even now?"

"Nope." He could hear the amusement ripple through her voice and smiled. There was a very long, long silence. Crews held his laughter in, tucked it away, and let it go.

"Lunch?"

"Yep." The warmth of her was gone and he missed it almost immediately. He stayed in the sun and peeled an orange while he waited. The bright citrusy scent hung in the air and mixed the the smell of the hotel shampoo. As she pulled clothes on, Crews watched her move. Her movements were stiff, and he knew she'd deny it if her bothered asking.

No pain pills for Dani Reese.

They walked down the hall in silence, their fingers barely brushing, her shoulders squared. As the entered the elevator, he leaned gently in her direction.

"If I apologize beforehand, will you still be angry?" he asked.

She shot him a sharp _what the hell?_ look. He smiled, the expression airy and full of light. She was going to be mad at him for awhile. That was okay. Her steps were slow and careful, so were his. Crews leaned in again.

"I'm sorry."

They walked through the double doors and into a side room. Reese came to a dead stop and Crews nearly ran her over. Cops and family. Bobby, Juarez, Reese's mother, Ted, Olivia, Davis, Tidwell, he'd even managed to get Seever to fly in. Rumor had it, she'd arrived with him, though he was pretty sure that was going to be denied if he asked. Most things would be denied if he asked, anyway.

"_Crews_."

He grinned as the entire room burst into a chorus of _Happy Birthday_. Bobby made some typically _Bobby_ gesture and Juarez elbowed him almost into the cake (which was vanilla flavored with the slightest hint of orange). A pair of shoes caught his eye-expensive leather-and he looked up to catch Mickey Rayborn's glance as Reese gave in and cut the cake.

In his hand was a large envelope, one he left on the edge of the back table.

He knew what it was.

It was another connection.

Crews watched Davis hug Reese and when he looked back, Rayborn had vanished. Charlie Crews knew, then, that the world was calling them home, that Los Angeles was waiting for them. And maybe more than all of that, his wall was waiting, too.

Walls were patient.


End file.
